Under The Watchful Eye Of The Swan
by Gleechumber
Summary: This is a night that Cathy kept secret from everyone. Still my first draft.


**This is my first atempt at using Cathy's POV in a fic, so it might not be any good.  
  
  
Under The Watchful Eye Of The Swan  
  
I lay in bed, forcing my eyes to stay open, persuading my body not to go to sleep. I waited until I heard Christopher's loud breathing, thus knowing he had finally fallen asleep. Slowly, quietly, I slipped out of bed, stroking Carrie's warm face as I did so. She was so innocent, so small and fragile. Our little twins had withered more in the attic than either Chris or me. I knew that I would gladly give my own life for the twins to be able to lead a normal one. But that chance had not been given, and instead we were trapped in the witch's tower. I saw things through childish eyes, and made everything into a fairytale to make it more bearable. But try as I might, I could not make our situation seem romantic and fanciful, even in my mind, the mind of a daydreamer.  
  
I tiptoed into the bathroom, where I picked up the little wooden key from it's hiding place. Such a small thing, carved by Chris, yet it was, quite literally, the key to our freedom. Still, we were afraid to use it, except within the large house.  
  
I put on my blue silk dressing gown. It was quite a cold night, and my little lacy nightdress wasn't keeping me very warm- nor did it cover up much of me. I was no longer worried about this, for Chris and I had already commited the ultimate sin. Nothing could make it seem any worse, not to God, not even to the Grandmother.  
  
Unlocking the door, I entered the pitch black corridor, and locked the door again behind me. Silently, I prayed that Carrie would not wake up. She would cry if I wasn't there, or call out for me and wake up Chris and Cory. And if Chris ever found out I had left the room so late at night, I didn't know what I would do.  
  
Thinking back, I am not sure what thoughts were crossing my mind as I padded softly past all the rooms in the grand house. I am certain that I could only have been thinking one thing: I was going to see him again. Bart Winslow. Momma's husband.  
  
I didn't know what I would say to him, or even if he would be there... momma had told us that Bart took naps whilst she went to the health spa on a Thursday evening. It was late, and I knew momma spent the night at the spa most weeks, because of the time it took for the numerous face packs and other treatments to work. (I hoped that I would never be as vain as momma). Anyway, I was risking a lot, based on the hope that Bart would be alone. What would I say to him? Would I tell him who I was, get him to help us escape? Somehow, I didn't think he would believe my story, even though I was unmistakably similar to momma, in looks if nothing else. I didn't think he would accept that his Corrine could do anything so terrible and barbaric as locking her four 'precious' children away in a single room, with the dusty attic full of secrets for a playground.  
  
I had reached the door to momma's magnificent suite. It was open just a crack, and I peeked through, drawing in my breath sharply, as I saw what was inside. My step-father was lying on the bed, still fully dressed, asleep on top of all the sheets. I knew this was nothing out of the ordinary. Chris had once heard momma chastise Bart for falling asleep so often.  
  
I pushed the door open, and walked in. My bare feet sank into the soft pale carpet, such luxury- yet this just saddened me, because momma obviously put herself first now.  
  
The swan stared at me with it's ruby red eye. Always that same eye, one which would haunt me for many years to come, although I was yet to find that out. Bart seemed out of place in such a feminine room. He looked as rough and unshaven as the first time I had seen him. My heart beat faster, as I sat beside him on the oval shaped bed. I reached out, and stroked his cheek, and murmured his name as I did so.  
  
He did not stir.  
  
I lent down slightly, low enough to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. His eyes opened, and slowly focused on me.  
  
"Corinne?"  
  
"No."   
  
"Then... who?" He sat up, and looked at me, as he came around from his sleep. "It's you?! Then... I'm dreaming again?"  
  
"No. Not a dream. I'm real."  
  
It is hard to describe the reaction of Bart, the look upon his face at that moment. But I am just grateful that he did not shout for a maid, or cause any disturbance which might awake the Grandmother.  
  
"Who ARE you? You look just like Corinne. And yet, you can't be. You are years younger than her!"  
  
"Yes. I'm almost sixteen."  
  
"Then- you must be her daughter? She has no living siblings so you can't be her neice."  
  
I didn't say anything. I just sat beside him, and gazed into his eyes.  
  
"Are you?" He repeated, persuasively. "Are you my wife's daughter?"  
  
"Yes. I'm Catherine. Cathy."  
  
"Where did you come from? Have you been living with relations? Did you arrive tonight?"  
  
"Sort of..." I paused. "We have been living with relations, but we've been here a long time now. Longer than you have, Bart." I wasn't sure what to call him, so I thought Bart would suffice.  
  
"Why haven't I seen you before? Why didn't Corinne tell me she has a daughter? And what do you mean, 'we' ?"  
  
"So many questions, Bart."  
  
"Why do you use my name like that? You say it so... so seductively."  
  
I laughed, my young girlish laugh. "I am only a child. Do you think you should be talking to me in that way?"  
  
"You kissed me."  
  
"Only to wake you up."  
  
He smirked, forgetting all the questions I still hadn't answered. "It's not the first time you kissed me. I knew I wasn't dreaming the first time. It seemed so real... and yet Corinne told me it was nonsense, told me to stop imagining things. I noticed the way she closed herself off from me even more than usual... I knew something wasn't right."  
  
"We... we need your help." I stammered. "Please, please get us out of here."  
  
"We?"  
  
"My brothers and sister and I." I took a deep breath, before telling him the whole story. "We used to live in Pennsylvania. But daddy died, so momma brought us here. Daddy was momma's uncle, and she got disinherited- I'm sure you already new that bit." He nodded, and I continued. "Momma is trying to win back her father's favour, get written into his will again. So he can't know we exist until she's done that. That's why we live in a single room, with the attic to play in. We are locked in. The twins, Carrie and Cory, they are only young, and they are suffering so much more than Chris and I. I'm scared they're going to... going to... die."   
  
To my horror and amazement, Bart ignored my whole story, and simply asked, "If you are locked in, how did you get here?"  
  
"We made a key. Chris carved it from wood." I held up the little key, which I still had grasped tightly in my fist, for fear of losing it, and being caught.  
  
"Maybe you should give it to me?"  
  
"What?!" I was dumfounded. I had hoped Bart would be our rescuer, our knight in shining armour. And now he was suggesting that I go back to my prison...?  
  
"Your mother and I, we'll lose everything if you reveal yourselves. Maybe your Grandfather will die soon, so that you can come out? After all, wouldn't you rather wait, and have riches, than escape now, and have to live in poverty?"  
  
"No. NO! You don't understand! Do you know what it's like to be locked up, kept in a single room for three years?" I couldn't work out why he was being so calm about everything. Surely he would have been shocked to discover that his wife had four children locked away? Then it struck me, that maybe he had known, or suspected, all along.  
  
I gazed into his eyes one last time, then stood, turned about, and left the glorious room to return to my personal Hell once again. 


End file.
